Broken girls become warriors. That was the quote on Pinterest.

I’ve seen it before. I don’t know who wrote it. I’m sure several incarnations have been written dozens of times but reading it this morning set me off.

Why the hell do we keep doing this?

It seems the space between complicated issue and bumper sticker narrows every year and never more so then around women.

Broken girls.

That is an image of pain that deserves more than a moment of consideration before we pick a color, a ribbon or a theme song. Before our society glorifies a genuine struggle and shoves every story onto the conveyor belt of a movement.

Not all broken girls become warriors. Some of them stay broken. Many of them hurt themselves, grow up to hurt others. To make a blanket statement like that, to simplify the idea of broken girls down to four T-shirt ready words is careless on the surface and reckless down at the roots.

What if I’m a broken girl and I don’t become a warrior?  What if I can’t make it past merely picking myself up and trying to get better?

Am I a failure? Do I still get a T-shirt?

On the flip-side, what if I’m not broken at all? Can I be a warrior if I’ve spent my life in happiness and joy? Or do I need to suffer, fall, break to be considered a badass?

Here we go again with the stifling categories. Skinny women are sexy. Real women have curves. Working women are smart. Breastfeeding women care more about their children.

And today, brought to you by the workout wear and coffee mug contingent—broken girls become warriors.

What an absurd statement. Breaking is devastating. It’s mean and vicious and women rarely, if ever, become warriors.

Do we even have warriors anymore?

Quick question: What do broken boys become? Where are their categories? Their catchy one-liners? Or do their struggles simply make them men?

No power to be gained exploiting their division I guess. No money to be made.

I like a quote as much as the next person, but it pisses me off when people pat complicated and usually female on the head before sending it off to the print shop.

Broken girls cry. They spend years, some a lifetime, trying to understand and then if they are lucky, they rebuild.

They join other women as business owners, moms, scholars, healers, shoulders on which to cry and build upon. They fight injustice. They make peace.

When life brings a girl to her knees, a woman works to stand. Shoulder to shoulder with other women. We aren’t this or that, those or them.

Girls become women in a vast array of textures and shades. Some sweet and uneventful, others rough and jagged. We are all women.

There’s no soundtrack or chest thumping. No warriors. We don’t have time for that ridiculous shit.

Keep your T-shirt. There’s work to be done.

My thoughts from the laundry room. Missed My Nap.

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